


Trapped

by Asidian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Gen, Healing, Injury, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: The squeal of rusted metal is deafening in the early evening air, but the scream that follows it is even louder. Noct turns to stare – takes in the way Promto's crumpled, curling in around the caught leg and trying to pull it free.His hands hover near the calf, where the metal teeth of the trap have sunk into the jeans hard enough to leave indents. The fabric is already dark with blood, and the stain's growing darker with every passing second."Aw, shit," says Gladio.





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful Kaciart. Happy birthday! :)

Evening comes with a cool breeze and a wash of color that transforms the western sky into a tapestry of violet and gold. Noct's seen tapestries in the flesh; some used to hang on the wall of his dad's study, ancient needlework elaborate and beautiful.

They were certified national treasures, but they have nothing on this sunset. It would be one hell of a view, if they were anywhere but here – out in the middle of nowhere, wading through scrub brush. They've been combing over this same half a mile, nonstop, all damn day.

"Perhaps we ought to rest for the evening," says Ignis, from where he stands peering beneath a bush just to Noct's left. "We haven't much longer before we lose the light."

"To hell with the light," says Noct. "We've only got one left to find."

"A much more difficult task, I'd imagine, while fending off imps," says Ignis. "And it will certainly be more challenging to spot in the dark."

"Not like the rest of them have been easy," says Gladio. "I'm with Iggy. Let's call it a night. That thing'll still be waiting in the morning."

"But then we've got to hike out here again," groans Noct. The thought of wasting another day combing for traps – the travel time and the gas for the car and the frustration of watching the daylight hours tick slowly away – makes him want to kick something.

"Dude," says Prompto. "I don't wanna lose another twelve hours staring at dirt, either, but it's about to be daemon o'clock." He reaches out to bump Noct with one shoulder, companionably. "I'd rather go get dinner than _be_ dinner."

Dinner actually doesn't sound half bad. They've been out here most of the day, and the mention of food makes Noct's stomach perk up and take notice.

"Yeah," he says at last. "Yeah, sure. Let's go get something to eat."

"Lights on," says Ignis, as they turn back toward the car, and Noct reaches absently to turn on his flashlight.

He's thinking about whether he can convince Specs to let them eat at the Crow's Nest. He's thinking about whether they can find a metal detector before they head out here tomorrow. He's thinking about how good it's going to feel to get off his feet when they finally hit the hotel beds tonight.

That's when Prompto finds the last trap.

The squeal of rusted metal is deafening in the early evening air, but the scream that follows it is even louder. Noct turns to stare – takes in the way Promto's crumpled, curling in around the caught leg and trying to pull it free.

His hands hover near the calf, where the metal teeth of the trap have sunk into the jeans hard enough to leave indents. The fabric is already dark with blood, and the stain's growing darker with every passing second.

"Aw, shit," says Gladio.

"Let me see," says Ignis, moving to kneel at Prompto's side. 

"Gods, Prom," says Noct. "Quit moving. You're gonna make it worse."

He _is_ making it worse – jerks back, reflexively, to try and pull himself clear of the trap's clenching teeth. 

The sight of it – the blood, staining Prompto's jeans and now his pale fingers, stops Noct in his tracks. It's not the worst thing he's seen, since they hit the road almost a month ago. Hell, it's not even the worst thing he's seen happen to Prompto.

But it's so out of nowhere, so unexpectedly awful, all at once, that he freezes for a second, unmoving.

It's exactly where he needs to be. From this angle, he has the view that Gladio and Ignis are missing: the scrub brush behind Prompto, leading out away from the road.

There's no warning before he sees it – no hint that anything's stalking them in the oncoming night. The big cats move like shadows, after all, powerful and sleek and quiet, and the first hint Noct gets that a coeurl's incoming is when the creature's spotted body launches itself through the air in a graceful arc, fangs bared and claws spread.

Noct feels his mouth fall open – has about half a second to realize that no one else is looking, attention focused on Prompto. No one even sees the thing.

So even though Noct's mouth says, "Look out," his mind knows they won't have the reaction time, and his body's already moving. 

The Star of the Rogue falls into his palm when he calls for it, appearing in a glimmering flash of light. He squeezes his hand tight around the solid metal of the grip – feels it bite into the skin of his palm in the instant before he hauls back to let it fly.

Ignis and Gladio are just turning to look when the blades hit the coeurl, cutting deep into the muscle of its shoulder. It yowls, the force of the impact throwing it scrambling off-balance against the dusty ground.

Noct takes everything in: the massive cat, already twisting gracefully to its feet for another lunge – the alarm on the faces of his friends – the way Ignis and Gladio move for their weapons both at once.

Prompto isn't that far behind them, and Noct feels a fierce surge of pride at that. Prompto's training was little more than a three-week crash course before they hit the road for this trip. He's down on the ground bleeding, leg caught in a toothy vice, but hell if his gun's not in his hand a second later, leveled toward the enemy.

He doesn't have to shoot. Gladio's already moving to intercept the creature, and Ignis is hefting his spear and holding it up in front of him like it's an uncrossable line.

The edge of Gladio's massive blade catches the coeurl across the ribs as it circles around for the second pass, and it screams its rage, whiskers lifting and rippling, the tips beginning to glow.

They're so busy trying to beat the creature back – to intercept the deadly force of the electricity that's building in the air like miniature lightning – that they don't notice the second coeurl until Prompto screams.

There's an instant of confusion – a vicious snarl, and the report of a gun – and then Ignis is saying, "There's another!" and Noct feels his stomach slide sideways.

He spots the new threat right away – takes in the twitching tail, low to the ground. Once upon a time, when Noct was still just a kid, he used to watch nature documentaries in his room in the Citadel, bundled up in blankets with a bowl full of popcorn. He knows that tail twitch, is the thing. He knows that stance. That looks like a big cat stalking injured prey. 

Noct hauls back the Star of the Rogue and throws it – watches it spin, end over end, and then focuses his attention and moves to follow. The warp feels cold and shivery, the way it always does, an instant of uncertainty when he slips into the between spaces. There's a rush of sensation, everything pressing in around him dark and solid.

He comes out the other side into a blur of motion and color, taking in the world in an instant.

Ignis' lance is buried in the shoulder of a lunging coeurl, and Gladio's turning to face the one by Prompto. It's not just _by_ Prompto anymore, though, despite the new gunshot wound in its chest. Its jaws are clamped firmly on his forearm, and its hind legs are braced, and it's _pulling_ , like it means to drag him off somewhere to eat him at its leisure.

Noct swears and switches out the Star of the Rogue – lets it flicker away. In its place, the Shield of the Just glimmers into his open palm, a slab of solid metal.

Noct rushes the coeurl with it, slamming the shield into place between it and Prompto. He presses forward and shoves it back, and Prompto screams when it refuses to let go. There's the wet, sickening sound of something tearing, and Noct can feel the warm patter of blood against his leg.

"Gladio!" says Noct, and Gladio, thank all the gods, takes the hint. He swoops in to help drive the thing back, and when his blade comes down across the coeurl's back, it snarls and lets Prompto go.

Noct stands there like a sentry, shield heavy in his palm. Behind him, Ignis sets a wide-legged stance and braces as the other coeurl charges. In front of him, Gladio's going after the one he knocked back. Below him, Prom's face is waxy-pale, looking like he might pass out at any second.

Noct fumbles into his pocket for a potion – comes up empty. "Hey, guys?" he says. "We got any healing stuff?"

"We used the last one this afternoon, I'm afraid." Ignis parries, twists, and doesn't glance Noct's way. "We've spares in the car."

Gladio gets his sword up just in time to keep a set of wicked claws from adding a new scar to his face. "We better finish these things off quick, then."

Noct glances down at Prompto – at the way he's slumped against the ground, face still and pale beneath the freckles. He's not moving anymore, and it's easy to see why. That arm is a ragged mess, pocked and gory, barely still attached. Just the sight of it makes a wave of dizziness sweep through him, with terror right on its heels.

This is a fight they don't have time for.

Noct steps up beside Gladio, hefting the Shield of the Just. He says, "We gotta go. Get Prompto."

Gladio glances over at him – looks like he's prepared to argue, right up until he sees Noct's face. Then he nods and falls back.

It's easier, somehow, to know that Prompto is in Gladio's capable hands. It's easier to focus on beating back the coeurl, all gleaming claws and deadly fangs. If he can throw it off balance every time its whiskers begin to glow, they'll be fine. If he keeps the Shield of the Just standing between it and Prompto, they'll be fine.

He can hear the squeal of metal as Gladio pries the trap free from Prompto's leg – has to remind himself to focus on the fight instead of what's going on behind him.

It still takes what feels like an eternity for Gladio to say, "Got him."

"Shall we, then?" says Ignis, and falls in by Noct's side.

It's an ugly retreat. By the time they make it back to the car, Noct's bleeding from a half-dozen small wounds, and Ignis isn't faring any better. Prompto's limp and unresponsive in Gladio's arms, and Gladio curses as he wrenches the back door open and tries to maneuver him into the back seat.

Noct hauls the passenger side door open, himself – slams it into the face of the still-pursuing coeurl. Its claws come up and squeal along the metal, raking free trails of glossy paint, and Noct half-closes the door so that he can hit it again.

Then he's throwing himself into the passenger seat and hauling the door closed behind him. On the other side of the car, Ignis puts the Regalia into drive and slams on the gas.

The car jerks; in the back seat, Gladio curses and snaps, "Wanna throw him around a little more?"

"Apologies," says Ignis, and slams on the gas again. 

Outside the car, one of the coeurls yowls and falls back – it's limping, Noct sees, as they speed off into the night. He hopes Specs broke its godsdamned foot.

"Potions are in the glove box," says Ignis, tone strained, and Noct moves for it immediately, groping for the latch and letting it fall open.

It comes wide with a click – reveals the case for Ignis' glasses, and the mini bag of chips Noct got at the Cauthess Rest Stop, and two spare potions.

Noct grabs the one on top and twists around in his seat, passing it over to Gladio. His breath catches in his throat at the sight: Prompto, deathly pale, sprawled over a back seat that's covered in his blood. For a terrifying instant, Noct's sure they're going to need a phoenix down – and those, he knows, they don't have.

Before his thoughts can rise up and drown him, though, Gladio's moving to uncap the bottle. The liquid patters out onto Prompto in a glimmer of green, and Prompto groans, eyes flickering open.

His arm, that raw-hamburger mess, starts to knit itself back together, and Noct hands back the second potion.

This one scabs the wound – leaves it dry and crusty instead of wet and gaping, and Noct feels the pressure in his chest ease until he can breathe again.

"How is he?" says Ignis, eyes still firmly on the road.

Prompto's half sprawled out on Gladio's lap, limp and motionless, but as Noct watches he begins to stir – cracks an eye open and tries on a smile. It looks like the smile he gave Noct back in high school that time he had his wisdom teeth out, loopy on painkillers. "Hey, guys. What'd I miss?"

"Gladio?" says Ignis. "An assessment, if you would."

"We could do with an elixir," says Gladio.

"Right," says Ignis, and turns the car at the next fork.

"How're you feeling?" says Noct, and leans against the seat back so that he can take Prompto by the hand – the good hand – and thread their fingers together.

"Think I need a nap," says Prompto, a little muzzily.

"Go on and nap," says Noct. "We'll wake you up when we get there."

 

* * *

 

They don't wake Prompto up when they get there.

Gladio scoops him up and carries him to the hotel room, and Noct holds the door. Ignis says, "I'll only be a moment," and disappears out into the night.

Between the two of them, Noct and Gladio wrestle Prom's boots off, and the bloody clothes. They wipe him down, and he doesn't stir, and that more than anything scares the hell out of Noct.

"You think he's gonna be okay?" Noct almost says, but he knows the answer, same as Gladio. Prompto's just lost a lot of blood. He needs an elixir, and some fluids, and some rest. He'll be fine.

Noct hopes he'll be fine.

Instead he says, "We should stay the night here tomorrow, too. Take a break for a while."

Gladio fixes him with a long look, and Noct busies himself fishing Prompto's pajamas out of his bag, to stop his hands from shaking.

"Not a bad call," says Gladio.

Ignis is back not long later, knuckles rapping sharp on wood, and Gladio goes to open the door for him. 

"How is he?" says Ignis, and goes to stand beside the bed as Noct eases a pair of chocobo print sleep shorts up Prompto's legs.

"Still out," says Noct.

"Not for long," Ignis assures him, and uncaps the bottle of elixir, pouring the liquid inside over what remains of Prompto's wounds.

It's a kind of magic Noct has known since childhood, but he still feels a faint echo of wonder at it now. The scab blanketing most of Prompto's forearm smooths over and then fades away, leaving behind nothing but unmarked skin. Noct breathes out, long and even, and feels the tension resting along his shoulders relax with the exhale.

"Prompto?" says Noct.

There's no reply. Prompto shifts in his sleep – buries his face in the pillow and says something that almost certainly involves chocobo racing.

"Guess he's staying out," says Gladio.

"Hm," says Ignis. "I suppose it has been a trying day."

"Early bedtime sounds good to me," says Noct. 

"Course it does," says Gladio, with a dismissive snort. "You could sleep any time."

Any time, it turns out, isn't just yet.

Even though he wants to crawl right into bed after Prompto, Ignis makes him take a newly-purchased potion for his own injuries, and then go change into something clean. It doesn't take all that long, but it feels like an eternity.

By the time he's done, Gladio's maneuvered Prompto under the covers, and Ignis is setting a glass of water on the bedside table, in case Prompto wakes up in the middle of the night. All that's left to do is wriggle under the blankets – so Noct does.

"Would you like the lights out?" says Ignis.

"Yeah," says Noct. "Maybe."

The room dims until there's an ambient kind of glow.

"Sleep well," says Ignis.

"Night," says Gladio.

"Yeah," says Noct. "G'night."

But for the first time in a long time, Noct doesn't drift straight to sleep.

He closes his eyes, and he slings an arm around Prompto, and he lies awake, just feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing.


End file.
